Torn
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: Six years, three months, and twenty-seven days. The longest they've gone thus far without a word between them. And with Spock's side of the bond inexplicably dimming and silent, Jim finds his anticipation for rectifying the strain between them steadily fading into a cloud of dismay. [OMS Challenge 2019]


**Torn**

* * *

Rain pelts his skin; icy droplets numbing his cheeks and the tip of his nose as he departs the coffee shop. Dragging his feet against the concrete, Jim hopes his steps will falter and lead him further away from the perpetual emptiness which awaits him. Away from the loneliness creeping in from the shadows of his mind.

Six years, three months, and twenty-seven days. The longest they've gone thus far without a word between them. And with Spock's side of the bond inexplicably dimming and silent, Jim finds his anticipation for rectifying the strain between them steadily fading into a cloud of dismay. Replaying their last conversation in his mind, once again, wishing to find some missing key piece of evidence in light of Spock's absence.

"_It is crucial I remain until this matter is settled," Spock says through the _comm_ unit with a note of finality. _

_Jim scrubs a weary hand over his face. "And how long is that going to be?"_

"_Undetermined."_

"_Dammit." Jim grips his thinning hair between his fingers as he bows his head to conceal his mounting frustration. "Okay." He huffs. "What if I come out there to you?"_

"_That would not be agreeable."_

_Jim snaps his head up at that to discover Spock's gaze turned slightly from the monitor. His concentration clearly someplace else. Someplace, seemingly, more important than his aged, greying, and yearning bond-mate._

"_And why's that?" Jim asks sharply, clenching his hands into fists upon his lap. _

_Spock finally returns to their conversation after a brief pause. The darkness of his eyes leached of the warmth they once held, and match the stony dusting of age upon Spock's own face. "My undivided attention is required for progress. I cannot afford distractions."_

_Jim flinches back from the monitor, stung by Spock's callous disregard. _

_When had Spock drawn a line between him as a beloved mate and an inconvenience? _

_When had Spock determined him the latter? _

"_Excuse me?" Jim strains to speak, voice scarcely above a whisper. _

_Once again, Spock's attention is reverted to something—or _someone_—beyond Jim's line of sight. His mouth forming into a stern line, which only conveys to Jim the truth of his prior statement. _

"_Certainly there must be important matters you must attend to yourself, Jim," he decidedly side-steps. The avoidance only serves to boil Jim's blood. _

"_You sure about that?" Jim snaps. "It so happens I've accumulated several weeks of rest and relaxation time, and Starfleet is practically shoving my ass out the door to take it. Besides," he licks his lips in preparation to deliver the blow, "not knowing how much time I may have left, there's nothing I'd deem more important than seeing you."_

_Spock doesn't react. A mask of true indifference. "You may travel here, if you wish; however, you must understand that I will not be made available to you during your stay." _

_With a scoff, Jim counters, "Not even an hour for lunch?"_

"_Jim," Spock starts with an undercurrent of exasperation. "I do not know how to further explain to you—"_

"_That I'd be a nuisance? Yeah, I pretty much got that," he bites back. "Never mind. Don't worry about it. Just call me when you're done and wanting to see me."_

_Silence falls upon them for a moment, and Jim wonders if Spock will have the decency to make amends. Yet, to Jim's disappointment, Spock raises his hand to form the _ta'al_. _

"_Live long and prosper."_

_The screen darkens. _

A sob lodges in Jim's throat at the memory of Spock once placing two fingers against the screen with a show of warmth and longing. An unspoken promise to never place anything above his bond-mate.

Jim's feet carry him directly to their apartment complex, and the face of the building welcomes him with a dreary greeting. The journey to the unit they bought in domestic bliss becomes ever more dispiriting; noting the Christmas wreaths hanging on his neighbor's door and the pair of young lovers pressed up against it.

Gritting his teeth against the profound envy creeping back into the forefront of his mind, Jim fumbles for his keycard with haste. The moans of pleasure ratcheting up in volume as he rushes inside—only to come to an abrupt halt.

There's a soft clinking of glass in direction of the kitchen, as well as a delicious fragrance wafting through the air. Sparking a memory from his youth of returning home from a day of brass shenanigans and arguments over his captaincy: Spock standing in the kitchen, preparing chicken, despite his distaste, and welcoming him home with a tender kiss.

With renewed vigor, Jim quickly rounds the corner into the kitchen. His heart leaping into his throat when he notes the man who's hunched over, hidden behind the fridge door, begins to stand upright. Revealing white peppered hair, a stern brow, and rounded ears.

Jim's heart sinks. "Oh, it's you."

His friend startles slightly; whirling his head around, and letting out a soft, disgruntled noise. "Well, good to see you, too, Starshine." Bones takes a swig of one of the beers in his hand and glimpses the frying pan before scrutinizing Jim with his medically critical eye. "You look like hell, kid."

"Yeah," he agrees solemnly.

Bones extends a glass bottle out to him. "Beer?"

"Not going to lecture me about my age and my health?" Jim wonders with a tinge of surprise, but snatches it before Bones can retract his offer. "Or the fact it's unhealthy to drink instead of face my problems?"

Bones snorts. "I'd be a hypocrite today, if I did."

It's an unusual statement, and Jim simply can't accept it. "Everything's still okay with you and Uhura, right?"

"Of course. We're moving into the new house later this week," Bones says with a dismissive wave. "It's Joanna." He sighs. "I haven't been able to see her in months."

"Damn." Jim pops the bottle cap. "The ex causing problems between you two, again?"

"Better question would be: When isn't she?"

"Sorry to hear."

Bones hums in response as he practically inhales his drink. "So, what's eating you?"

Jim inwardly grimaces at the question, and makes a noncommittal gesture. "Just antsy, I guess. It's only been a week into my month long vacation and I'm going stir crazy."

"I'm not surprised," Bones grumbles, decidedly picking up the mixing spoon to poke at the stir fry. "You've never been the relaxing type—which has caused me nothing but grief, by the way."

"Ah, c'mon, it wouldn't be as fun without me."

"Well, it sure as hell would be more peaceful," Bones counters. "I'd be able to finish more work, that's for damn sure."

Jim violently flinches.

"_My undivided attention is required. I cannot afford distractions."_

He commences chugging his beer, hoping to wash the sour taste from his mouth. Bones clearly not missing his reactive silence as he gently asks, "You sure you're all right, kid?"

With a cough, Jim easily lies, "Never better."

"Oh, yeah?" Bones challenges. "So, how's that hobgoblin husband of yours? Is he coming to Earth for the holidays or are you traveling out to him?"

"He's got his plate full with several projects," Jim deflects. "We'll meet up once he's free."

The skin between his friend's brows pinch in understanding. "Uh huh."

"Look, it's fine," Jim snaps. "What's a little time apart? Doesn't distance make the heart grow fonder or something like that?"

"It can," Bones agrees with a sigh, removing the pan from the burner. "Or it can make it grow colder and distant. And that hobgoblin has been both already."

"_Bones_."

"All right, sorry." Setting the beer bottle down, Bones folds his arms over his chest. "Just worried about you, that's all. I'd hate to see you follow in my shoes."

Jim claps his shoulder, appreciatively. "I'm okay," he assures, then steals his friend's beer and retreats to the living room. Ignoring Bones' muttered disbelief.

* * *

"_You're leaving Starfleet?" Jim starts with scarcely bridled outrage. "Why didn't you tell me?"_

_Spock drops his gaze. "I intended to inform you before your next scheduled departure." _

_Jim scoffs. "So, you just let me go on and on about us and the _Enterprise_ like a dumbass?" A dark brow lifts, and Jim silently curses the way it dissipates some of his anger. "You know exactly what I mean by that."_

"_I did not want to, as you'd say, ruin our remaining time together," Spock defends. And before Jim has a chance to retort, Spock steps in close and brushes fingers against his temple. "Forgive me, _ashayam_. It is imperative of me to replace my counterpart now that he is gone."_

_Affection floods the bond, wrapping Jim in warm reassurance. The touch a pleasant tingle along his skin._

"_It's…" Jim swallows thickly as he imagines a different first officer standing at his side. "It's not goodbye—_officially_—right?"_

_The heat of Spock's palm comes to rests against his cheek. Jim's eyes fluttering shut as Spock leans in, feeling the softness of lips as they capture his own. _

_And despite being lost to the sensation, Jim belatedly realizes Spock had yet to answer. _

A hand upon his shoulder wrenches him into the present, and it elicits an unexpected sensation of betrayal at having been brought back to his current reality.

"Jim?"

He hurriedly wipes at his eyes, hoping to merely appear exhausted. "Hey," he greets.

"Hey," Uhura parrots softly and with an undercurrent of concern. Jim notes her hair has been chopped shorter for the first time, curling along her jawline, the ends tickling her cheeks. In awe of her ability to maintain her beauty, if not enhancing it with age.

"Got a second?" he asks, gesturing to the unoccupied seat across the table.

"Only a second." She sits without a hint of hesitation. "I have a class in thirty minutes."

Jim offers a playful look of confusion. "You haven't graduated yet?"

She huffs in exasperation, but he doesn't miss the fond gleam in her eye. "With our newest discoveries in deep space, _Admiral_, more languages have become available and necessary to learn. I'll always need to play catch up."

"Sounds taxing," he blurts admiringly. Keenly aware that such a task is hardly a feat for someone as bright as her.

Uhura graces him with a small smile. "Maybe for some."

"Maybe," he repeats, picking up the cup in front of him and taking the first sip of his nearly forgotten coffee—finding it cold.

He continues drinking, unable to care.

Uhura eyes him in a similar critical manner as Bones, absorbing his non-verbal language as effectively as any verbal one.

"Jim." Placing her hand on his forearm, she wonders, "What's wrong?"

He studies her intensely, relishing the physical contact he's otherwise been deprived. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk to you about it, but there's no one else."

She audibly exhales, impressively catching on without much detail. "You're right. It's not a good idea, but…"

"But?"

"I empathize with the need of someone to turn to when it comes to this type of relationship." Removing her hand, Jim is left feeling bereft, and it takes enormous effort not to ask her to return it.

Jim chuckles, mirthlessly. Internally chastising himself for his insensitivity. "Still not fair to you. I'm sorry."

"Have you spoken to him recently?" Uhura starts, skipping all small talk to hit the heart of the matter.

_Perceptive, as always. _

Jim coughs, choking down more of the bitter liquid. "No." He wonders, "Have you?"

The skin between her brows pinch. "A few weeks ago," she admits.

Something sharp and red-hot pierces his chest at that. "Oh." His fingers tighten on the mug until they ache from the strain. "How is he?"

"Different." Uhura sighs. "It felt as though I were speaking to a carefully crafted version of him."

"What do you mean?"

"It feels as though he's given up his Human side for the sake of the Vulcan race."

Jim swear the earth underneath him gives way. The gravity of her words striking the very core of him. "Maybe that's why I haven't felt…" he trails off. "Are you sure?"

"You need to talk to him." Her eyes soften in sympathy. "Maybe if you congratulate him on his new ambassador status, he might remember himself?"

"He's," the pain in his chest commences to carve out a hollow grave for his heart, "an ambassador?"

"You didn't know?" Uhura pales. "He didn't tell you he isn't returning?"

"No." Bile shoots up his throat. "He didn't."

* * *

Drumming his fingers on the office desk, Jim glares down the _comm_ unit at the corner as though it withholds the answer to its continued disuse. But when no explanation seems to be forthcoming, he sighs, and punches in the number from memory. Steeling himself for what may or may not come of it.

"Ambassador Spock is not available," an automated voice informs after a single ring. "Leave a detailed message after the tone."

A hard lump settles at the base of Jim's throat.

"_What if I decide to call a hundred times a day?" Jim jests, and snakes an arms around Spock's middle. Soaking up the last physical contact he'll have before Spock's departure. _

"_That would, no doubt, be excessive," Spock returns with a slight curl to the corner of his lips. "However, I will answer each one without fail."_

The tone sounds and a light indicates recording. Jim musters up a smile and commences singing marginally out of tune: "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you." He pauses, then releases a sheepish laugh. "I know, I know; it's 'illogical' to celebrate something you had nothing to do with, but I thought I'd still call."

Jim studies his perfect mask of cheer on the recording, and fights the bile rushing up at the sight of it.

"Anyway, I haven't had the chance to congratulate you on your promotion to ambassador. So, I thought I'd seize the occasion. Bravo, Spock."

Clearing his throat, Jim presses on, "They tell me your first mission may take you away from New Vulcan for a while, so I hope I'll be the first to wish you luck. And…"

Something cracks inside. His lip trembling as a sheen of unshed tears blurs his vision. Jim battles for control, teetering on the edge.

"I miss you."

Jim terminates the call.

Only the empty apartment bearing witness as he rests his head against his palms and weeps.

* * *

The whiskey burns his parched throat, and he chokes on the welcome relief. Basking in the heat spreading through his veins the moment the alcohol settles in his stomach. The first time he's felt the sensation of warmth in over a year.

"Hey there," a voice suddenly purrs from behind him. Jim watches from his peripherals as an Orion woman slips into his space, leaning suggestively against the bar. "You look like you need a friend."

_No. Just Spock._

Flagging down the bartender for another round, Jim turns with his trademark grin. "I might." He pretends to not know what she's after as he coyly invites, "Care to keep me company?"

She graciously seats herself on the stool beside him, fingers splayed over her own drink. He admires them silently; the slender curves, nails manicured. They're beautiful, but nothing in comparison to the ones capable of tenderly tracing the edge of his profile before moving to grip his hips mercilessly.

Jim blinks, somewhat taken aback as a tear tracks down his face.

"Oh, sweetie," she soothes, offering the typical opening to spill his troubles so she may fill the holes it reveals. Her free hand stroking along his backside. "Let me help."

"_Let me help," Spock insists, tailing him to the village. Unwilling to follow the direct order to return to the ship. _

_Jim whirls around. "No. You need to go back, Spock. I can't—" _Lose you. _"You need to stay alive for the sake of the ship in case I—" _Die again. _ "I can handle the evacuation." _

_Jim keeps moving, despite the ground trembling beneath his boots. "It's regulation, after all. You care about that," he tacks on. _

_A hand grips his shoulder, forcing him to halt. Dark eyes burn with an intensity Jim hasn't seen directed at him since the day he rendered Spock emotionally compromised. _

"_There is someone I care for more."_

A kiss is pressed against his neck, jolting Jim back to the reality of the bar. "My place is just around the block," she whispers into the shell of his ear. "I'll make it all better."

Jim jerks away from her ministrations to dig in his pocket for his credit chip. Taking multiple attempts to properly scan it to pay for his drinks before making a beeline for the exit. The click of her high heels in pursuit of him loud as he stumbles out onto the sidewalk.

Once he reaches the mouth of the adjacent alley, he grasps her shoulders, pushing her against the brick. Warm breath caresses him as he leans in, only centimeters from his goal—from feeling _wanted_, at long last. Even if it's temporary or a delusion, he'll settle for this. He'll accept anything.

His chest flares in an ache, however, followed by an overwhelming sensation of wrong when he brushes a kiss against her mouth. Her reciprocation repulsive as she skims fingers over his groin.

_**Jim.**_

Wrenching backward at the familiar voice and sudden flash of the bond, Jim pivots sharply, then violently vomits his drink onto the pavement. The world spinning and tilting uncontrollably as pain builds within his skull.

"Honey, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Jim gently pushes away from her. "I need to leave."

Awkwardly footed, Jim journeys back down the alley, and collapses against the wall once he rounds the corner. Attempting to catch his breath as he closes his eyes to concentrate. And releasing a noise of frustration when he seeks the bond, only to discover the light dimmed once more. The link having returned to its previously cold state.

_Spock!_

* * *

It's less than a week before Christmas and his allotted vacation days are over, so Jim desires to waste it by simply laying in bed. Surprised at his own inactivity as he stares absently at the darkened ceiling, not bothering to permit the tiniest amount of light through the curtains.

Clutching Spock's old, blue tunic to his chest, Jim rubs the material between his fingers. The scent of incense scarcely lingering where it once was heavily saturated. A testament to the passing of time, he supposes, and Spock's apparent desire to remain on New Vulcan.

The increasing hunger cramps eventually convince him to leave the bed. Groaning as his joints crack, Jim trudges through the silent apartment toward the kitchen, halting midway to check the _comm_.

"You have 0 new messages."

Jim lets out a tsk.

_Figures._

Shuffling into the kitchen, he forgoes a homemade meal and heads directly for the replicator. Typing in the code as an indicating beep from the front door sounds.

"I'm in here, Bones," he calls over his shoulder as he yanks the fridge open to retrieve two ales. Cursing his luck when there's none to be found, and turning to deliver the bad news. "Sorry, looks like I'm all out of—"

Jim freezes.

The Vulcan stands at the threshold of the kitchen like a specter come to haunt; clad in white travel robes which nearly wash out his complexion entirely. And although his skin's begun to wrinkle and hair tinging grey, the intensity of his dark gaze remains the same. Causing Jim to shiver under the scrutiny.

Then, Spock dares a step forward on whisper quiet feet, and the jagged fragments of Jim's shattered world snaps painfully into place.

"Don't."

Spock stops immediately.

"Don't do this, unless you mean it." An unbidden sob escapes him, air burning his lungs. He rasps, "You have to _mean_ it."

When Spock hesitates, it only serves to twist the proverbial knife in Jim's chest.

"Jim," Spock starts softly. "I wish to apologize for…" he stares off at some unknown spot beyond Jim's shoulder in what he recognizes as profound shame, "my distance."

It sparks a fire inside, flaring upwards in a blaze of heat as Jim returns in a similar volume, "Six years, Spock." Then, emphasizes loudly, "_Six years!_"

"Yes," Spock doesn't argue, bowing his head. "And I have also…_missed_ you."

"No." He laughs incredulously, shaking his head. "No, you don't get to say that to me."

Spock unexpectedly closes the remaining space between them in two long strides, and Jim silently chastises himself when he doesn't avoid the familiar hand that rises to cup his cheek.

"_Ashayam_." Jim's breaths hitch as Spock presses his forehead against his. "Will you permit me to show you?"

There's a plea in Spock's request; something desperate and urgent.

Something fragile.

And despite Jim's warring emotions and the increasing urge to dismiss him, he ultimately cannot deny Spock anything. Neither can he deny himself having Spock with him again, at long last.

Grasping the material of Spock's robes, Jim accepts, "Please."

The bond breaks wide open; a force ripping through Jim's mind as raw and powerful as the first time decades ago. Affection and longing expanding farther and deeper than the known universe streaming into him, filling him to the brim within seconds before overflowing. It's simultaneously too much and not enough, and Jim mentally clings to it as though it were bliss to drown after walking miles through desert.

Fingers brush gently against his face seconds before Spock captures his lips in a demanding kiss. Their teeth clash as Spock plunges in, and Jim feels an echo of the fragility from earlier transferred through it. Decidedly squashing the dread in favor of being consumed by his bond-mate.

The kitchen counter digs into his lower spine as Spock presses close, mouthing along his cheek and down the side of his neck. Grazing the juncture between his shoulder before he stakes a claim with a sharp bite, causing Jim's hips to buck forward in search of friction. Unable to protest when he's hoisted up by the thighs to rest awkwardly around Spock's waist and carried blindly from the kitchen.

A gasp is punched from him when he's abruptly released, his back colliding with the mattress. Spock already stripping his travel robes with unbridled eagerness.

"I love you," Jim chokes out as Spock crawls atop him, cherishing the pudge of Jim's midsection with venturing hands. "Don't you dare leave again."

Spock reaches to trace Jim's psi points, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

"_Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, t'hy'la_," Spock says with a conviction Jim's never heard. The hollow cavity in his chest subsequently shrinking, gifting him the sense of wholeness he's all but lost.

* * *

Jim blinks against the morning rays bleeding through the curtains and stretches languidly. His toes curling, briefly catching the blanket. He no longer feels the aches of his joints, nor the heaviness he didn't realize he carried for years. His body feeling remarkably light and youthful.

With a growing, genuine smile that causes a slight ache, Jim buries his head into the pillow. Recalling the arms which held him close, and the steady breaths at his nape as he slipped into slumber.

Wrestling with the covers, Jim sits upright, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His mood unchanged, even as his spine cracks when he stands. Ignoring how the panel wall mirror reminds him of years passed as he caresses the bruise of the bite at his neck—concrete proof he didn't hallucinate Spock.

With a yawn, Jim shuffles out from the bedroom. "Spock?" he calls, curious as to his bond-mate's whereabouts as he happens upon an empty living room.

"Spock?" he tries again. Fear stealing over him when silence is all that greets him, gripping the couch in search of support. The muscles in his chest tightening as something cold and weighted settles there. Causing each beat of his heart to strain against the pressure.

Clinging onto some modicum of hope, Jim squeezes his eyes shut to aid concentration. Clumsily searching for the place in his mind and brushing away proverbial cobwebs until they reveal the golden thread of the bond. Following it with mounting despair until he nears the intersecting point of Spock's consciousness. Inching along smoothly—only to then crash into an invisible wall, solid and unyielding.

Jim recoils violently.

Stumbling dizzily down the hall into the bedroom, he battles a wave of nausea as he collapses heavily onto the mattress. The scent of incense flooding his senses as it escapes the fibers of the duvet, forcing him to roll away from the now offending odor. And startling, when something feather light skims across the skin of his arm.

Lifting his head, Jim finds the source to be a folded piece of his antique stationary. His name penned elegantly in invitation to read. And despite his sinking suspicions of what the letter contains, Jim opens it with trembling fingers.

**Jim.**

**My _t'hy'la_. **

**This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again. I have long debated whether to undergo the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr and purge all emotion, but could not for the sake of your well-being. However, the quality of my work has suffered considerably, and with the birth rate of New Vulcan dropping 68.7% within the last decade, I have reached a decision to correct errors where it concerns my endangered race. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. **

**I trust you will not feel it reflects judgment upon you, and that you may understand our situation logically cannot be maintained. **

**The proper shields have been erected, so you may not suffer further harm and may search for your needs elsewhere. If you desire to dissolve the bond, I will accept your wishes. **

**Live long and prosper.**

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review!


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